


Lullay my Sweet One

by Cerylia



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerylia/pseuds/Cerylia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kataline Cousland sings lullabies for her dog, Victoriatus. Covers her first lullaby, the lullaby she thought could be the last, and the last. Also included: why Alistair wears a dress and dances the Remigold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullay my Sweet One

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers for character death/animal death and miscarriage

Kataline was fifteen when her father and brother came back from a neighboring arling with a mabari pup in stride.   
The arl had a daughter about Fergus’s age. Fergus didn’t want to have much to do with her—he was sweet on some Antivan noble woman. But Mother had begged Fergus to go, anyway, as to not burn bridges. The trip had been almost entirely a dud. But when they walked through the kennels, a mabari mother whimpered and barked, and her largest pup charged out and attacked Bryce Cousland’s left boot. Father laughed and pried the pup away, handing the cream colored mabari to Fergus. Fergus promptly received a face full of wet, sloppy kisses, then stopped, stared at Bryce, and tried to wriggle away to receive affection from him. Classic signs of imprinting—on both men. While not usual, it was not unheard of for a dog to not be able to choose between people. Father kindly conceded that Fergus should have the pup. Fergus was twenty and proud and dumb and decided to name the pup Victoriatus.   
It was a short trip, hardly two days. Kate was still pouting that her father wouldn’t let her go when she and her mother met them at the gates. Fergus was yelling about how incredible the trip was, that a mabari had imprinted, when the dog sprinted away, attempting to tackle Kate. The poor pup was hardly the size of a large cat, but it was still a shock to Kate. She barely managed to catch Victoriatus, who promptly licked up her nose. Kate laughed. Fergus’ and Father’s faces dropped: the dog they thought couldn’t choose between them had actually been unable to find Kate.   
Fergus was livid. Kate found a frog in her bed at least once a week for the next month.  
But Kate didn’t care. She snuggled with her pup at night, the only time he even bothered to lie down.   
“ _Lullay, lullay, my tiny child,  
Too soon you’ll know the world so wild,  
Yes all too soon, you will be grown,  
And I’ll bide here, alone, alone._”

 

The Blight struck four years later. Kate hadn’t slept since the failure at Ostagar.   
In truth, she probably hadn’t slept since she had fled her home, with nothing but her family sword and her mabari. And just when she thought she had found her place, found a new home, Loghain and the darkspawn ripped that away from her, too.  
Alistair was on watch, and Morrigan had made her own, separate camp a few yards away. Kate had never really done well sleeping on the ground. It was too cold, especially in Ferelden, and it would only get colder. It was a stark difference from her warm, comfortable bed, with her nephew and Fergus across the hall and her parents nearby.   
The family sword was within reaching distance, should the darkspawn attack. But Kate wasn’t especially worried. She couldn’t sense the beasts yet, but Alistair could. And Victoriatus would defend her, too.  
He was asleep, relaxed long ways against her. She gave a small smile, petting his head. He didn’t wake up, but he whimpered.  
That wasn’t normal.  
She sat up and forced open his jowls. His gums were pale in some spots. And through the darkness of night, Kate wasn’t entirely sure how she knew, but she was certain that rest of the gum was darkening with a blighted.  
So he had ingested tainted blood. She had turned away whenever he attacked. She couldn’t bear to watch. If she didn’t see it, then there was no proof that her dog was dying. But there was no denying it now. She sighed, loudly.  
“I have a wild flower, in my pack,” Alistair said, breaking the unearthly silence of the night.   
“Will that save him?”  
“It should, for now at least. Here.” Alistair handed her the flower and squatted down next to the dog.  
Kate moved so she was sitting in front of her hound. “Victoriatus,” she crooned. “Wake up, darling.”  
“Didn’t you remind me just today that he is a war dog, not a pet?” Alistair teased.  
Kate shrugged. The dog slowly lifted his head, and Kate fed him the flower.  
He licked at her palm, cautiously at first, then gaining both desire and energy to swallow the flower whole. He promptly lay back down.  
“Thank you, Alistair.”  
“Not a problem. You should get some rest, too, you know?”  
She nodded. And she sang, quietly, once the other Warden was out of earshot.  
“ _Lulay my tiny child, lulay.  
For you shall run in meadows green  
And sport with otters all in the stream  
And you shall chase the dapple deer  
And swim with salmon in the waters clear.  
To pluck the small birds from the sky  
On the tail of the South wind, you shall fly._”

 

Seven years later, Kate lay in bed with her mabari, again.  
The hard ground had again been exchanged—first for her tent, then Alistair’s tent, then the palace, and Vigil’s Keep, and the palace again. And Victoriatus had been with her for most of it. Except of course, for Vigil’s Keep. Then, the dog had been too busy sharing his good genes with the beautiful lady mabari of Ferelden, to keep the numbers of. Kate’s husband joked that the dog would nearly flee at the smell of a female in heat after the first few days.  
Kate gave a small chuckle. At least her dog would have children, even if she could not.  
But that was years ago. Now, the dog relied on his hearing more than sight. More than once, he thought Fergus was Kate, that Nathaniel Howe was Alistair. It was easy to tell when he made the mistakes—he would bound towards them, then suddenly stop and smell the air sheepishly.  
That was when he could run. The arthritis was too serious now, and the dog was always sore. The happy-go-lucky dog was liable to growl at those who pet him too hard, who poked him too many times. Victoriatus stopped bringing Kate toys, stopped finding random objects with great pride. He was content to spend his days in bed, or at Kate’s feet, with an ear scratch whenever she could manage between her queenly duties.  
She knew he wouldn’t last long. Alistair was out late, again, a meeting with advisors who brought important news from Kirkwall—something about their circle, but Kate hadn’t heard the details before she carried her mabari (who weighed as much as she) to bed.   
Soon, she would be alone. Not entirely, of course. Alistair was always there, and the Wardens and her friends would always be around. But she was watching Victoriatus die, and that was like losing a child. On top of that, she was eight days late. But the last time she was pregnant, she had lost the baby. And the time before that, too. She didn’t exactly expect to keep this one. And this time, she wouldn’t have Victoriatus to lean on afterwards. Alistair would want her to take to another mabari. But Kate didn’t especially care for other mabari. Just Victoriatus.  
He slept next to her chest. And she sang.  
“ _Yes, you shall stand on the coal black sands,_  
Waters of Western Lands,  
But now I have you at my breast,  
Lullay my sweet one, gently rest.”

There was a hard knock on the door.  
“Yes?”  
“Dear, I don’t have a key, let me in,” Alistair called.  
Kate sighed and maneuvered off the bed without disturbing her sleeping dog. She wasn’t prepared for the sight when she opened the door.  
Alistair was indeed outside, without keys. Or pants. Or any masculine clothing of any kind. In fact, he had managed to fit himself into a dress—one of her dresses, at that, a bright orange one she had worn in Orlais. It was fluffy and ridiculous and intended to be low-cut, but it was just all so strangely out of proportion with Alistair.  
“Move out of the way, I don’t want the servants to see me,” he said, pushing past her. She shut the door behind him, before laughing, so hard she had to lean against the door for support.  
“Well, I decided, my queen, that you could use something to lift your spirits. So I put on a pretty dress, so I can dance the Remigold for you.”  
“What about that news from Kirkwall?”  
“Kirkwall, shmirkwall. Now, I’m not entirely sure how this goes, but I’m sure you’ll correct me.” 

The next morning, the dress was casually discarded on the floor, with no concern for the likely irreparable damage caused. Both from Alistiar’s wearing of the dress, and the subsequent removal. Victoriatus, too, was gone, having found his place to go to his rest behind the bed while they slept.   
And Kate would cry. But not for as long as she thought she would. Because despite the world going to literal hell around her, she was wrong twice.  
She had thought she would never care for another mabari again. Two weeks after Victoriatus was burned, one of his great-granddaughters followed her around the castle, trying to chew on her boot.  
And eight months after that, she held Prince Duncan in her arms, while Alistair grinned like a fool.


End file.
